


Rebrand

by tcheschire



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Gen, Pre-Canon, Pre-Storyline Anyway, Younger Kaiba bros, i just love them so much, ish, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:41:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22297987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tcheschire/pseuds/tcheschire
Summary: “With respect to Mokuba-sama, he isn’t housewives, age 35-49.”After Kaiba Seto's takeover of his adopted father's company, his marketing department decides it is time to change his look.Giveaway/gift-fic for Truth Teller.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	Rebrand

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Truth Teller](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Truth+Teller).



> Written for Truth Teller as my 10th Chapter giveaway for Culture Shock – her prompt was Kaiba, “I don’t like it.” Inspired by [this post](https://prismatic-bell.tumblr.com/post/189389001231/something-that-gets-lost-in-translation-through).

“I don’t like it.”  
  
Seto only spared the selection of clothing the barest passing glance, crossing his arms over his chest. It hadn’t been very long since he had taken the company from his adopted father, and in the media debacle following the suicide, the KaibaCorp PR team had decided it was time for what they referred to as a “ _rebranding._ ”  
  
The representative had brought in troupes of young men, slender and as tall as the modelling company had to mimic Seto’s build, and they had paraded around in front of him wearing a series of proposed looks for the new CEO: a continuation of the Mandarin inspired ensembles, vile red gingham, colorful satin jackets, and perhaps most repugnant of all, a cruel mockery of a school uniform.  
  
The true _umeboshi_ to top this horror show was that, of all of the outfits, not a single one featured a trouser with a hem below the knee.  
  
Seto straightened in his seat, tilting his head just so to allow him to look down his nose at the group of young men, who were clearly having difficulty retaining their composure against his withering stare, before shifting his attention back to the PR representative.  
  
She looked over to the models, a small furrow forming in her brow. “You don’t…?” She consulted her clipboard briefly, flipping through a series of papers. “Seto- _sama_ , we’ve done rigorous focus groups since the, ah, restructuring of leadership, and these looks have been curated to represent your interests in the most optimal manner. Model number 3 tested particularly well with housewives, age 35-49,” she added, gesturing for him to step forward with some excitement.  
  
He did so, and performed a small circuit toward Seto and then away. Long sleeves, Mandarin collar, cuffed shorts in shades of taupe and red.  
  
“No shorts,” he said simply.  
  
Nodding as though she understood, she gestured for a couple of the other models to step forward as well. “But Seto- _sama_ , these looks have been tested among the public, and especially in your target demographics, and we’ve found that these looks in particular project the image of…” She trailed off somewhat here, struggling to replace what Seto was certain was the word _innocence_.  
  
They were trying to cover up his late adopted father’s suicide. They were trying to make the public believe he hadn’t just successfully completed a coup d’etat.  
  
But that was just the thing. He had, and he did not want to hide it. He wanted Domino, Japan, _the world_ to know that Kaiba Gozaburo was no more.  
  
“They make me look childish,” he snapped, standing to walk down the line of models, offering them closer scrutiny.  
  
A pained look crossed the PR representative’s face, and he could see what she, and so many others, were biting their tongue to avoid saying: _but you are a child_.  
  
“And this,” he continued, waving in irritation at the first model. “Are you trying to make me look like Gozaburo lite? That is his suit, isn’t it?”  
  
“A version,” the rep admitted. “We thought that a sense of continuity in these trying times – “  
  
“It’s his suit in satin with fucking shorts.” He hadn’t cursed much before, a line that Gozaburo had drawn that he daren’t cross, but now that was no longer an issue, he enjoyed the emphasis on his tongue. “Gozaburo couldn’t get me to wear shorts when he was alive, I don’t know what makes you think you’re going to do any better.”  
  
“But you can use the emphasis on your youth will bring the guard down in the consumer, it will make you seem more trustworthy.”  
  
He snorted, taking his seat again. “Anything but. No one wants to see a child in the head seat of such a powerful company – I don’t want the name to carry me, I want my presence to carry the name.” He pointed an accusatory finger at model number 3, wearing the pseudo _seifuku_. “And I shouldn't even have to point out how ridiculous a notion it would be to wear a schoolboy’s uniform everywhere – I’ll wear a uniform at school, and nowhere else.”  
  
Glancing anxiously at the lineup, the rep rolled her lips together, hugging the clipboard closer to her chest. She drew in a breath as though to steady herself, and she bowed deeply before she spoke. “Seto- _sama_ , please excuse me for saying this, but you can’t say no to all of them.”  
  
He restrained himself from laughing harshly, and allowed a small smirk. “No? Then let’s bring in someone who can.”

* * *

“ _Nii-sama_ , I don’t like them.”  
  
To his credit, Mokuba had allowed the show with greater patience than his brother did – when Seto had summoned someone to fetch Mokuba, he ensured that they alerted him that this was a meeting of great importance, and Mokuba had treated it as such: he sat at attention, back straight and hands on his knees as the young men walked to and fro in front of him, and it was only a credit to his manners that he waited until the end to voice his opinion.  
  
With a small gesture in Mokuba’s direction, Seto turned once again to face the PR rep. “There you have it.”  
  
The representative looked torn. She was clearly under direction to find a suitable visual schematic for the rest of the department to work on, and with regard to that, at least, she was doing her job with aplomb. She bit her lip slightly. “I’m not sure that Mokuba- _sama_ is the most…objective judge,” she said hesitantly, turning to beckon one of the young men back, as if a fourth time would make Seto reconsider.  
  
“Are you saying that Mokuba’s word isn’t enough?”  
  
“With respect to Mokuba- _sama_ , he isn’t housewives, age 35-49.”  
  
Seto’s voice took on a hint of steel. “But I expect for Mokuba’s voice to be listened to with the same degree of respect as mine. And he’s said no.”  
  
She seemed to notice that she had approached an area where the ice was too thin, so she backed off. “Seto- _sama_ , please, it is imperative that we settle on a new wardrobe for you, and these are the options that have tested best with – “  
  
“And who’s decided that my target demographic is housewives?”  
  
This brought her short, as though it wasn’t a question she was expecting or had not thought enough about to have answer. “Well… it’s KaibaCorp’s demographic. It has been for – “  
  
“It isn’t anymore. We aren’t just rebranding me, we’re rebranding the whole thing. I’m sure middle-aged women will have their place in the future of this company, but it won’t be at the forefront of our marketing strategy. I don't care what the wives of military leaders think.”  
  
The PR representative tensed, and Seto got the distinct impression that she had been coached to expect this conversation. “I think that’s a matter for the board of directors to decide, Seto- _sama_ , but in the meantime – “  
  
“It’s been decided.”  
  
“ _Nii-sama_ , I’m bored,” Mokuba whined softly, shooting an uncomfortable look at the woman. He had done the job he came here to do, and more than that, he became anxious when Seto raised his voice. Especially so when Seto raised his voice with an employee.  
  
Trauma, no doubt. Like an abused puppy, Seto thought, clenching a fist against his thigh.  
  
Seto regarded the representative coolly, relishing in the way she shrank from his glower. “Yeah,” he said pointedly, maintaining eye contact with her. “Me too.”  
  
Briefly, he felt a gentle tug on his sleeve, and all eyes turned to face his brother. Mokuba shrank from the attention somewhat, but drew himself up to speak. “ _Nee, nii-sama_ , if we’re trying to impress different people, why don’t you wear something that they like?”  
  
“Did you have an idea, Mokuba?”  
  
His brother bit his lip and rolled it between his teeth, considering. “ _Anou_ , who plays games? Kids, right? And teenagers. So if you dress like people they look up to, then they’ll think you’re cool and buy your stuff.” The words came hesitantly at first as Mokuba worked the idea over in his brain, but by the time he reached the end of his sentence he seemed to have landed where he wanted to be. Hopping from his seat, he grabbed a remote control and turned on the television on the opposite wall. He fiddle with the channels for a moment, before finally landing on a music channel.  
  
Turning to face Seto proudly, Mokuba gestured: the screen displayed a rock band under colorful strobing lights. At first glance, their aesthetic seemed a little over the top, but the longer Seto watched, the more he noticed the aura they radiated, the attention they garnered from their audience. There were some unnecessary frills, but the aesthetic of the black underneath the gaudy embroidered frock coats was clear: it was power.  
  
Seto considered briefly. It was a compromise: the marketing department still got to dress him up as their doll, but he retained his power. He nodded curtly. “We’ll need some prototypes,” he said, dismissing the representative and her models with a short wave. “Take the rough idea, and make it suitable for a business environment. We can try again tomorrow.”  
  
Shifting in his seat, he turned to kneel in front of Mokuba, who gave him a bright smile. Allowing the stoniness to melt from his features, he drew his brother into a hug, nuzzling his head into the bushy black hair. “You were quick on your feet, and you saved me. You’re a smart kid, Mokuba.”

**Author's Note:**

> I just really like the idea of Seto’s clothing being selected by focus groups to maximize public image. Boy went from sweater vests to that white monstrosity.
> 
> So in addition to being super interesting, the research I did for this fic got me back into J-Rock bands that I had literally forgotten in the last fifteen years. So big thanks to Truth Teller for the prompt, because now I’m even further into my nostalgia!


End file.
